Adventures of the Little Wooden Horse Read online

  ADVENTURES

  of the

  LITTLE

  WOODEN

  HORSE

  First published in 1938, this classic tale of courage and hope will enchant children of all ages.

  When the toymaker falls on hard times, his brave little wooden horse must go out into the world and seek his fortune. On the way he has some extraordinary adventures: pulling the royal carriage, helping pirates dig for treasure and even walking the tightrope in a circus. But the loyal little horse only has one wish: to return to his beloved master.

  To Conrad Southey John

  Contents

  Foreword

  1 The Little Wooden Horse

  2 Uncle Peder in Trouble

  3 The Little Wooden Horse Sells Himself

  4 The Little Old Woman and Uncle Peder

  5 The Little Wooden Horse Seeks his Fortune

  6 The Escape from Farmer Max

  7 The Little Wooden Horse Goes to Sea

  8 The Little Wooden Horse Goes Down the Mine

  9 The Little Wooden Horse Sees the King

  10 The Little Wooden Horse Runs a Race

  11 The Blacksmith and his Son

  12 The Little Wooden Horse at the Circus

  13 In the Nursery

  14 The Swim to the Sea

  15 Black Jakey

  16 The Little Wooden Horse Swims the Ocean

  17 Pirate Jacky and Bill Blackpatch

  18 The Little Wooden Horse Goes Home

  19 The Little Wooden Horse Goes to a Wedding

  About the Author

  Foreword

  I have always loved the story Adventures of the Little Wooden Horse. I think it must have been my father who first read it to me when I was very young, and I asked to hear it over and over again. I can clearly remember a friend complaining that when she came to stay she always had to listen to “that toy horse story” . . . and then she insisted on borrowing my copy of the book so that she could read it for herself!

  As a child, the quiet little horse who had no particular wish for adventure had a truly magical fascination for me; he was my ideal hero. All too many of the books that were read to me starred big bold boys or clever feisty girls – characters that were not in the least bit like me. The little wooden horse was different; when you read the story you’ll find out, as I did, that he is strong – but he isn’t invincible. His paint fades, his wheels wear out and fall off, and he often needs mending. What’s more, he is never boastful, or looking to find fame and glory. He has an endearingly simple innocence; all he wants is to be able to earn enough money so that he can return to his beloved Uncle Peder. He sets out into the big wide world all on his own. He does not have a companion to travel with, although he makes many friends along the way. He survives kidnap and servitude, good times and bad with a gentle astonishment that such things can happen to a quiet little horse . . . and he remains steadfast throughout.

  When I grew up and had daughters of my own – feisty, clever, big and bold – I found to my surprise that they wanted to hear about the little wooden horse too . . . over and over again. I had thought that in our world of television, computers and razzle-dazzle books, the story of a wooden horse would appear old-fashioned, but I was wrong. There’s a timeless fairy-tale quality to the telling; even though it was first published in 1938, the story is as attractive now as it always has been. Why? Perhaps it’s the clear voice of a true storyteller, a storyteller who knows exactly how to keep the reader gripped. Each chapter ends with a breath-holding new problem or situation; how can we not read on just a little more to see what happens? And then a little more . . . and then another chapter. Maybe it’s the humanity of the little horse. Even if he is made out of wood, and his head comes off, he has a huge heart. Sometimes he feels sad and lonely, and sometimes he feels that he will never win through – but always he thinks the best of whoever he meets, and he does his best with a cheerful fortitude. Even when things are at their very darkest, he does not grow angry; he bears his lot with patience and hope.

  As for his adventures – well! There has to be something here to catch the imagination of everyone, whatever their interests. There’s a glorious mishmash combination of canals and barges, elephants and coal mines, kings and princesses – let alone the circus, the treasure island and the desperate swim across the ocean! When I read this story to my youngest daughter, we had several late nights because she couldn’t bear me to stop . . . and, if I’m truthful, I didn’t want to. It’s the most wonderful story to read out loud and bears any amount of repetition.

  The final attraction of this book for me has always been the relationship between the little wooden horse and Uncle Peder. It’s a story about loving and being loved; the little horse has no ambition to travel and have adventures, but he will do anything to save his beloved master . . . and throughout his ups and downs, his one determination is that he will return home with enough of a fortune so that Uncle Peder never has to work again. Everyone longs both to give and receive such love, and this must be one of the main reasons why the story has such a never-ending appeal . . . and why I hesitate every time I pass a toyshop window. I’m still looking for my very own little wooden horse . . .

  1

  The Little Wooden Horse

  One day Uncle Peder made a little wooden horse. This was not at all an extraordinary thing, for Uncle Peder made toys every day of his life, but oh, this was such a brave little horse, so gay and splendid on his four green wheels, so proud and dashing with his red saddle and blue stripes! Uncle Peder had never made so fine a little horse before.

  “I shall ask five shillings for this little wooden horse!” he cried.

  What was his surprise when he saw large tears trickling down the newly painted face of the little wooden horse.

  “Don’t do that!” said Uncle Peder. “Your paint will run. And what is there to cry about? Do you want more spots on your sides? Do you wish for bigger wheels? Do you creak? Are you stiff? Aren’t your stripes broad enough? Upon my word I can see nothing to cry about! I shall certainly sell you for five shillings!”

  But the tears still ran down the newly painted cheeks of the little wooden horse, till at last Uncle Peder lost patience. He picked him up and threw him on the pile of wooden toys he meant to sell in the morning. The little wooden horse said nothing at all, but went on crying. When night came and the toys slept in the sack under Uncle Peder’s chair the tears were still running down the cheeks of the little wooden horse.

  In the morning Uncle Peder picked up the sack and set out to sell his toys.

  At every village he came to the children ran out to meet him, crying, “Here’s Uncle Peder! Here’s Uncle Peder come to sell his wooden toys!”

  Then out of the cottages came the mothers and the fathers, the grandpas and the grandmas, the uncles and the aunts, the elder cousins and the godparents, to see what Uncle Peder had to sell.

  The children who had birthdays were very fortunate: they had the best toys given to them, and could choose what they would like to have. The children who had been good in school were lucky too. Their godparents bought them wooden pencil-boxes and rulers and paper-cutters, like grown-up people. The little ones had puppets, dolls, marionettes, and tops. Uncle Peder had made them all, painting the dolls in red and yellow, the tops in blue, scarlet, and green. When the children had finished choosing, their mothers, fathers, grandpas, grandmas, uncles, aunts, elder cousins, and godparents sent them home, saying, “Now let’s hear no more of you for another year!” Then they stayed behind to gossip with old Peder, who brought them news from the other villages he had passed by on his way.

  Nobody bought the little wo
oden horse, for nobody had five shillings to spend. The fathers and the mothers, the grandpas and the grandmas, the uncles and the aunts, the elder cousins, and the godparents, all shook their heads, saying, “Five shillings! Well, that’s too much! Won’t you take any less, Uncle Peder?”

  But Uncle Peder would not take a penny less.

  “You see, I have never made such a fine little horse before,” he said.

  All the while the tears ran down the nose of the little wooden horse, who looked very sad indeed, so that when Uncle Peder was alone once more he asked him, “Tell me, my little wooden horse, what is there to cry about? Have I driven the nails crookedly into your legs? Don’t you like your nice green wheels and your bright blue stripes? What is there to cry about, I’d like to know?”

  At last the little wooden horse made a great effort and sobbed out, “Oh, master, I don’t want to leave you! I’m a quiet little horse, I don’t want to be sold. I want to stay with you for ever and ever. I shouldn’t cost much to keep, master. Just a little bit of paint now and then; perhaps a little oil in my wheels once a year. I’ll serve you faithfully, master, if only you won’t sell me for five shillings. I’m a quiet little horse, I am, and the thought of going out into the wide world breaks my heart. Let me stay with you here, master – oh, do!”

  Uncle Peder scratched his head as he looked in surprise at his little wooden horse.

  “Well,” he said, “that’s a funny thing to cry about! Most of my toys want to go out into the wide world. Still, as nobody wants to give five shillings for you, and you have such a melancholy expression, you can stop with me for the present, and maybe I won’t get rid of you after all.”

  When Uncle Peder said this the little wooden horse stopped crying at once, and galloped three times round in a circle.

  “Why, you’re a gay fellow after all!” said Uncle Peder, as the little wooden horse kicked his legs in the air, so that the four green wheels spun round and round.

  “Who would have thought it?” said Uncle Peder.

  2

  Uncle Peder in Trouble

  Uncle Peder and the little wooden horse became great friends. Everywhere that Uncle Peder went the little wooden horse went too, carrying the sack of toys on his red-painted saddle, so that Uncle Peder no longer walked with a stoop under his heavy burden, but upright, like a young man. The little wooden horse was useful in other ways too. He carried all the money. Uncle Peder just unscrewed his head and popped the coins down the hole in his neck, so that they were quite safe; and the little wooden horse was very proud of being so useful to Uncle Peder. He trundled along bravely as they walked from village to village.

  “How lucky I am!” thought the little wooden horse, who was as happy as the day was long.

  But the day came when no children ran out to meet them as they entered a village.

  “How can this be?” said Uncle Peder, walking down the street. “Can they be in school?”

  But it was not school-time, and there were children playing by the river. Why didn’t they come shouting to Uncle Peder as they used to do? Why didn’t their mothers and fathers, their grandpas and grandmas, their uncles and aunties, their elder cousins and their godparents, come out to ask the news: “Uncle Peder, Uncle Peder, what’s happening there, up the valley? Now, Uncle Peder, tell us all about it!”

  Nobody came out of the houses; not a child left the river to welcome Uncle Peder.

  “This is very strange,” said Uncle Peder, trudging down the street, with the little wooden horse behind him. Suddenly he came upon something lying in the road. It was the head of a china doll.

  Uncle Peder stopped and picked it up. He shook his head as he looked at it.

  “I never made such a doll,” said Uncle Peder, shaking his head again. “China face, silk hair – no! My dolls don’t break either.”

  The poor broken doll lay in Uncle Peder’s hand, with its yellow hair curled about his fingers. Uncle Peder looked more puzzled than ever.

  A little farther on they found a broken steam engine, made of tin. Uncle Peder shook his head over that too.

  “I never made toys of tin,” he said to the little wooden horse.

  Then he found a sheet of newspaper drifting about the village street that told him all about it. Of course nobody came out to hear his news if they already had a newspaper to read it in; and the newspaper told Uncle Peder that big shops had been opened in the town nearby, full of cheap toys. There the mothers and fathers, the grandpas and the grandmas, the uncles and the aunties, the elder cousins and the godparents, could buy all the playthings they wanted for the children, without waiting till Uncle Peder came round with his sack; and they paid much less money in the town for the cheap toys that broke than they paid Uncle Peder for his strong wooden ones. But the cheap toys were very pretty, and the children did not want Uncle Peder’s any more.

  Uncle Peder and the little wooden horse went on from village to village and found the same state of affairs. Nobody wanted Uncle Peder’s toys now that they had new, cheap ones from the town. They didn’t want his news either. No, thank you! They read all they wanted in the newspapers.

  This was all very well, but Uncle Peder had to eat, and to pay for his food. One by one the coins disappeared as they came out of the neck of the little wooden horse. One day there were no more left at all.

  “What shall we do, master?” said the little wooden horse.

  “I must sell my toys cheaper,” said Uncle Peder. And he sold his beautiful wooden toys for fourpence, twopence, and even a penny, along the high road. Presently the sack was empty, and the little wooden horse had nothing left to carry at all.

  “What shall we do now, master?” said the little wooden horse.

  “Why, I’ll sell my coat!” said Uncle Peder.

  He sold his coat, and soon he was shivering, while his shoes let in the wet.

  “What use are shoes with holes in them?” said Uncle Peder. So he sold those too; but the money soon went.

  Now they were in a bad way. No toys, no money, no coat, no shoes, no paint on the little wooden horse, no food, and Uncle Peder shivering and aching all over!

  “Master is ill,” said the little wooden horse. “I’ll go and sell myself.”

  So when they had settled themselves in a barn for the night, and Uncle Peder had fallen into an uneasy sleep, the little wooden horse trundled out into the moonlight and away on his little wooden wheels as fast as he could go.

  3

  The Little Wooden Horse Sells Himself

  The little wooden horse remembered that once, a long while ago, as he trundled through a village at Uncle Peder’s heels, a little girl, very beautifully dressed, had leaned out of the window of a big white house and cried, “Oh, what a pretty little wooden horse!”

  No one came out: it was too fine a house to buy toys from a pedlar in the streets. But the little girl had liked him all the same.

  The little wooden horse knew that he was not so handsome now as in those days. The paint had worn off his red saddle; his blue stripes were scratched and bare; his four green wheels had travelled so far they were nearly worn out; but he hoped that the little girl would not notice these things. Uncle Peder had not been able to afford to give him a coat of paint for a long, long time, so he did his best to brighten himself up a little at a stream before setting out on his long journey to the village where the little girl lived.

  All night long he trundled through the forest and over the hills, till in the morning he found himself in the village, outside the big white house that he remembered so well. Everything was quiet and asleep. Not a maid stirred in the house, though down the village street the cows were being driven to pasture, and the sun was quite high.

  The little wooden horse went round the house, wondering when someone would come and open the door, and if he should knock, or neigh, or kick the wall gently with his wooden wheels till somebody noticed him. He looked up at the windows: the curtains were drawn across. In one window the curtains were co
vered with rosebuds and tied with blue ribbon. “Those belong to the little girl,” thought the little wooden horse.

  Nobody appeared, so he trotted down the garden and found a large playhouse under some apple trees. “That’s where she plays,” said the little wooden horse, going round and round the playhouse a great many times on his four green wooden wheels.

  When he passed the door of the playhouse for the fifth time a gruff, horsy voice called out from inside, “Who goes there?”

  The little wooden horse stood quite still with fright, his heart going pit-a-pat! pit-a-pat! inside his hollow wooden body. Then he saw that the door of the playhouse was open a chink, and a great spotted rocking horse was looking at him from inside.

  “Come here!” neighed the spotted rocking horse, and because the little wooden horse was too afraid to do anything else he squeezed through the chink of the door and trundled into the playhouse. There he was, under the rocking horse’s nose, feeling as small and as foolish as could be.

  The rocking horse was a splendid fellow. He had a red saddle and bridle, with silver rosettes, and shining silver stirrups. He blew through his scarlet nostrils at the little wooden horse, and asked him how he dared to come into the little girl’s garden and trundle round and round and round her playhouse.

  The little wooden horse explained that he had come to sell himself. “A little while ago she admired me as I passed by with my master,” he said humbly. “Now my master is ill and has no money left to buy food with, so I have come to see if she still admires me and would like to give my master five shillings to have me for her own.”

  “Five shillings!” roared the rocking horse. “What do you think she wants with a scratched, broken, cheap toy like you? Do you expect to come and live in her playhouse with us? Look round you and think again!”